50 in 50

Then the voyage was over. Gentle hills and an undulating coastline appeared ahead. The St. Columba moved slowly between the outstretched granite arms of the two great breakwaters and into the harbor. DUN LAOGHAIRE, a large sign said on the dockside building, but there was no clue as to how it was pronounced. With little ceremony the men, carrying their few belongings, were moved off the ship and boarded the waiting double-decker buses. AN LAR_; read the destination on the display boards, and all of the men chattered excitedly at the thrill of riding in a power-operated vehicle. The buses were silent too, obviously electrically powered, and moved out in a lumbering convoy for a short ride through narrow streets. There were green trees and small houses, gardens with flowers and parks with smooth, rich grass. The journey ended before a high wall and a tall, impressive-looking gate that opened to admit the fleet. The men unloaded in a large courtyard surrounded by interesting-looking buildings. Giulio tried to remember all of the details as he had been trained to do. As soon as the buses had left, with a cheery wave from the last driver, the gates swung shut again and a man mounted a platform and blew into the microphone there. His magnified breath echoed like a wind from the walls and the Italians grew silent and turned to look at him. He wore a dark suit with matching waistcoat, a gold chain draped across the full front of this, and smoked a large-bowled pipe which he pointed at them to emphasize a point. It was pointing now.

"My name is Mr. O'Leary," he said, "and I am in charge of this establishment. Some of you may speak English now and all of you will learn it if you intend to stay here. Gino here is the translator and he is going to translate now. But there are English classes every evening and you will be expected to attend. Tell them that, Gino."

O'Leary produced a lighter and proceeded to fire up his pipe while the translation was in progress. Then he nodded, whether at the translation or the tobacco was not made clear, and went on.

"You gentlemen are guest workers of Ireland. There are valuable jobs to be done here and I know you will enjoy doing them. The work is not hard, you will be fed well, will have a good deal of leisure time, will be permitted to send your salary home if you wish. Which will go to the church of your choice, which of course will be the Roman Catholic church. As we discover your qualifications and abilities you will find the best work suited to you. Some will become street sweepers, for we pride ourselves on the cleanliness of our cities, and others will have the pleasure of being dustmen and riding the great and powerful vehicles that perform this vital function of the community. There are opportunities galore for you." He tamped down the smoldering jobacco with his thumb and appeared not to hear the mutter that muttered, across his audience.

"Yes, I know that you applied for skilled jobs, masons and carpenters and the like, but if my experience of past drafts is correct there isn't an honest workingman here." There was steel in his voice now and a new hardness in his eyes. "Nor a single callus on the soft hands of the lot of you. But that's all right. We know that you all are rich or know someone rich enough to enable you to afford the bribes and forgeries of papers that got you here. It'll not be held against you. You will be expected to work hard and measure up. And if you do not you will be shipped home forthwith. But live up to the terms of your contract and we will live up to ours. You will enjoy your stay on our shores. Remember, you will be permitted to send food parcels and manufactured articles to your families at home. You will prosper on the healthy diet of the land. You will drink Guinness and grow strong. You will assemble here at half-seven tomorrow morning to begin carrying bricks for the construction of the new power plant."

At this O'Leary turned away — was there a twinkle in his eye? — and left before the translation was finished so that the groan that greeted his final words followed him through a small door. His audience went, somewhat crestfallen, to their quarters.

But not Giulio. Depressed? Never! Power plant! This was the best luck ever.

It was drizzling next morning and in groups of ten, damp and cold, they stood in the courtyard. Each group next to a large pile of singularly massive-looking bricks. A squat and solid man with large red hands talked to Giulio and his companions and held out an object towards them. It had a long wooden handle that supported two boards, set edge to edge to make a V.

"This," he said, "this, my good lads, is a hod. Got that? Hod, hod. Let me hear you say it. Hod?"

"Hod," one man said, then others, "hod, hod."